The Big Yard: Notes from a Pajama Birdwatcher

August 15, 2022 

Items I always carry in my car: sleeping bag, toolbox, binoculars, first-aid kit, snake stick.  Sometimes, especially this time of year, I use the latter more than any of the others (even more than the splints and bandages).

The snake stick is a gift from my friend Walker Thomas, who died suddenly more than a year ago.  He figured I needed it.  Especially if we were to comb the woodlands and canyons for rattlesnakes the year I was researching my book, Chasing Arizona.  He constructed a hefty one that doubles as a walking stick, a turning-over-rocks stick, a rolling-logs stick, and a poking-into-holes stick.  All of which works better than my hands in rattlesnake country.

I consider it magic.  The stick has led me to extraordinary rarities of the reptilian kind.  Like the rock rattlesnake, a diminutive centipede-eating pit viper of our Madrean sky islands.  And the gorgeous ridge-nosed rattlesnake, our state reptile, and another small, secretive viper of oak woodlands and pine forests. Both are protected.

More often than not, I find snakes, like this rock rattlesnake (above) and ridge-nosed rattlesnake (below) in the middle of the road. My handy snake stick helps move them safely out of harm’s way.

Last week, my neighbor, Lucifer’s Mistress, texted me a photo of a diamond pattern coiled at the threshold of her door.  “ID?” she asked.  “Snake?”  Then she called while I was replying.

“Rattlesnake,” I said, heading to the shed for a bucket.  “I’m on my way.” 

Even young rattlesnakes, like this baby diamondback, can be dangerous. If you find one around your home, call the fire department or a professional removal service.

A Black-tailed Rattlesnake, sunning itself on a hiking trail. This one got a wide berth and a bit of encouragement to move off the trail. No harm done.

Arizona hosts 13 species of rattlesnakes and I’ve encountered them all, save one.  And so, I keep the magic wand close at hand.

My Native American friend, Phoenix Eagleshadow, once gave me a leather bracelet she had strung with colored beads depicting sidewinder rattlesnake—horns, tongue, rattles, and all.  She said it was my spirit animal.  When I asked her why a sidewinder, my western mind going to the usual unsavory meanings of the word, she said it was because of my authenticity. “Sidewinders never pretend,” she explained.  “They can be nothing but honest about what they are.”

I show the bracelet to the wife every time she tells me to “get real.”

Which is often.

After I texted her a photo of the neighbor’s doorstep diamondback, saying that I was relocating it downcanyon from us, she wrote: “Bet you are wearing sandals.”

I assured her I was not. Then I sent her another photo.

“Okay,” she said, “the wife is not impressed.”

Thanks for supporting the Big Yard. I promise I’ll get back to the birds!